Peace Treaty
by StormWriter18
Summary: ...and the vulture stared down disapprovingly. Oneshot.


**A/N: I. Don't. Know.**

**You know how people go off on tangents?**

**Yeah.  
**

** This is a tangent. **

* * *

Cyclonis fidgeted in her dress, more uncomfortable then she had been in a long time. It wasn't that the dress didn't fit- oh no it fit her like a glove (which is a poor comparison considering gloves fit hands as good and as bad as a dress may fit a person). It was a traditional cyclonian gown. Gothic, conservative, and to the disapproval and popular opinion of the other guests, more suitable for a funeral.

It _was_ a funeral.

Except everyone was laughing and celebrating. Smiling and crying. The place was bright- too bright. Drink and foods were laid out on tables lining the hall. Extravagant chandeliers hung from the ceiling, beautiful crystals splitting the light, cutting it apart and scattering it across upper part of the room. Pretty gems, but useless otherwise.

The guests were a multitude of colours. To her displeasure she spotted Piper flirting by a plate of sandwiches with a purple haired skyknight who she faintly remembered. She'd been a spy hadn't she? The Interceptor? The skyknight looked somewhat appropriate at least. _Somewhat. _Her dress was too fashionable. Something brand name, Cyclonis assumed. She wore brass and gold bangles, and purple eye shadow. Cyclonis could not disapprove of purple, but as she recalled, the woman chose to wear her jewelery and makeup even when working, off doing whatever it is Skyknights do.

Like infiltrating Cyclonian lines and helping to destroy a certain machine that had taken forever to build.

But she was a full bodied woman, well built, if short, and though the dress did little for her, at least it was past her knees.

Piper looked like a Barbie doll. It was quite the accomplishment on her part, Cyclonis thought, considering Piper had a complexion the complete reverse to that of a barbie doll. She has strapping orange high heels on, boosting her up. Her navy blue hair was down for once and by her side bangs pinned to her scalp was a orange flower…thing. You'd think the girl would know a fake crystal from a real one, but the gaudy plastic attachments in the flower clip and lining the top rim of her dress were just tacky.

And the dress, the _dress_. To think she had once saw the girl as...as…as an equal! A rational girl , a worthy challenge. A friend! It was blue, somewhat like the lightest parts of her hair. But duller too. The dress stopped just above her knobbly knees. A spaghetti strapped top hung about now blooming breasts. The girl was too skinny to have breasts like that. Cyclonis had thought that, now that the war was over, the Storm Hawks might be living in better conditions and eating healthier. She had presumed that a poor diet had been the reason the mage was so slim. Apparently not.

She wasn't one to complain though. She knew herself to be wraith like thin. Her white skin gave the impression she might just be a set of bones walking about. There had never been a very …average sized Cyclonian queen. Frail bodies, strong wills. It was in the genes. And besides, she hated eating. Not because she worried about her figure- oh to hell with the fickle ideals of society. She just didn't like food in general. The idea of swallowing mush and chewing. It was an annoying requirement of survival.

Cyclonis wandered hopelessly keeping to the edge of the crowd. With something like hope she spotted the proprietor of the establishment, her tall stack of blue hair emerging from the mob. The princess she was sure, would have better taste than the other females.

She was only slightly surprised to be wrong. Being wrong was becoming a terrible habit. The Princess Perry, who had generously supplied the use of her castle for the celebration, was not wearing a traditional gown. No tresses, no petticoats, no bustle. She too was wearing something of a more fashionable style, long, and body hugging, a happy pink. Thankfully her old style crown was worn and her hair still up or else there would be no telling her and Piper apart. It was most difficult to believe they were not related and Cyclonis had doubts about the whole thing. She had thought that perhaps Perry would be somewhat like Piper- a headstrong girl, talented with crystals. Someone who could relate to all the tragedies and hardships of ruling a country at a young age.

But she was as ignorant about crystals as most skyknights were and she would not speak to Cyclonis. Just as well, the young empress thought. The princess was bubbly and chattering away with some boys, before spotting her twin and exuberantly joining her in hugs and conversation.

Cyclonis wished for a shadow she could blend in with. She felt more conspicuous in her near black dress than before. Was she the only one who cared at all for the traditional ballroom wear, even if hers was ostentatiously darker? Was she the only one who cared for dresses that had a sense of mystery and the virtue of secret keeping? The sleeves went right to her wrists and extra fabric over her hands. It's train and bustle trailed along the ground. The top funnelled around her neck. Her hair was pinned up as it was supposed to be for formal occasions. It was a traditional dress, one that had been worn by her ancestors and previous queens. By technicality, a handy down.

She wandered some more keeping farther away from the laughing skyknights, squadron members, council members and other hierarchal figures all cheerful and inflated with good spirits. Along the hall lined up were pictures. Each one represented a different terra, a nation, their names listed below. She found Cyclonia's and roosted by it.

The artwork was that of a vulture hunched on a branch. Its plumage was murky violet but its wings were wine red. In the background was presumably Terra Cyclonia, in all its spiny glory. The vulture stared at her with red eyes.

A sudden catch of whispers and male giddy laughter caught her attention. She turned to see a knavish looking group of boys staring at her from across the hall, and they looked away as soon as she turned. After a moment she glanced away but watched them out the of corner of her eye. It wasn't long before one of them, some ruddy young man who made her think of the blond Storm Hawk, was approaching her. He cleared his throat looking a bit uncomfortable, but also smiling a little too happily.

"Uh, hello Mistress Cyclonis," he said offering out is hand. If she had had a knife she might have cut it off.

Mistress? _Mistress?_

"I was wondering if …I might have a dance?"

She wanted to throw him into the wall. Did he think she was stupid? That she hadn't seen them betting with each other, daring each other while pointedly looking at her?

"No." she said looking away.

But he was persistent.

"Are you sure Miss? I should hate for you to miss out on the fun."

"_No." _she said more forcibly. Had it really come to this? That he would have the impudence to ask her on a dare, to dare to pity her?

He stepped forward his hand over his mouth from the side and whispered, "Listen, I know I might not be much to look at-"

But from the way his eyes darted to her toes and back up she figured he was saying, _-and neither are you._

"-But the guys back there, all huddled together? Well they said if I could get you- if you danced with me then they would give me -"

"_I said no and I'm not going to change my mind." _Her voice felt horse. She hadn't used during the entire celebration.

"Just one dance?"

She snapped and let out a low angry growl and he jumped thinking worse was coming.

"Alright fine then." He said rudely and sauntered back of to the other boys. She couldn't hear him speaking but she was sure it was something she would have people tortured for and the other boys laughed.

Her fist curled tightly and her sharpened nails pricked her own palms. How disgusting! Was she not respected at all now? Did no one fear her?

She looked at the artwork and the vulture stared down disapprovingly.

A peace treaty.

* * *

There had been no other way out. Her army was crumbling and the very foundations of Cyclonia were beginning to come apart. People screamed. Her soldiers were shot out of the sky. She planned to run. Run to the Farside and return another time. To come back stronger. She was almost to the door.

And then _he_ stepped out in front of her. From behind her beautiful, if temporary escape, from behind the door the Talon Commander stepped out armed with his sword, glowing red.

"I'm afraid you stop here Cyclonis."

She nearly fell over in shock.

"_Excuse me?" _she demanded grasping for words.

He thrust out the blade too close to her face and she nearly lost balance again on the stairs. Was he an idiot? She looked behind and the Storm Hawks were right there chasing her down: Piper in her newly discovered power, glowing blue and floating angelically, the skyknight Aerrow in a matching aura.

"I said I won't let you go any farther." the Dark Ace catching her attention once more.

"You…you're helping them?" she yelled furiously.

He leaned in closer, his words harsh but low. "Cyclonia is over. You've lost. I'm not going down with you. I've already made a deal with the Skyknights."

Cyclonis blinked surprised. With an odd calm, she said, "That required some forethought Dark Ace. As if you knew this would happen."

There was a twitch of a smile on his face. "I didn't know what would happen." He said loud enough for only the two to hear. "But I knew it might. Either way, I was prepared."

She let out a bark of laughter to the confusion of all there. "A traitor till the end!" How ironic! How morbidly ironic!

Then she stabbed the Dark Ace with her staff piercing right through his Cyclonian armour, and heard Piper scream in horror from behind.

"Hell is for traitors!" She yelled. The Dark Ace fell back, the soft lilac glow of the Door engulfing him. But as he fell, just to spite her, he swung out the blade in his hand, not at her, but at the Door's frame. It slammed into the key. The crystal cracked and broke.

"No!" Cyclonis screamed, she went to leap forward, to jump into the portal but it was already shrinking away, violet plasma disappearing and sucking with it the body of the soon to be dead ex-Talon.

Her hands might have dipped into the portal. But then she was pulled away from behind. The Storm Hawks. The god damn Storm Hawks.

The hanger was collapsing in on itself. She realized that the boy had grabbed her and tore her away from the Door just as a large pipe fell from above collapsing on her last salvation.

She fought them there. As everything tore down. But soon, she was huddled into a corner, disarmed and facing them.

The Terra lurched.

She had little choice. Her country was about to be erased from the world.

She asked for a parley. A treaty. A peace treaty. It was that or jail. That or death.

She had enough of her forces to severely damage them. But they had inflicted damage too. And the perfect attunement had been unexpected.

And so a peace treaty had been formed. And she had signed it.

Now it was on a pedestal at the front of the room. Cyclonis turned away from the vulture and walked nearer to the copy of the treaty. There was her signature, scrawled at the bottom on the paper. Soul sold to the devil.

She wanted to burn it, and her hand curled for her staff. They hadn't allowed her to take her it in with her. Every crystal she had on was checked. Nothing with any real ability. No real power. Just for show. Just for the appearance Like the chandelier crystals. Like the girls in dresses.

She had thought she was doing the right thing. Her terra was dying. Her army was dying, her people. Cyclonia was dying. She did it to save them.

And they hated her.

Cyclonians were a proud people once you sorted through the bullies and cowards. People who believed in pride. You gave in to death before you gave in to the enemy. They hated the Master for her weakness. The thought that they could have won, or at least died taking as many of the enemy that they could with them. It was in blood to believe that the Atmos was theirs. That Cyclonia was the greatest country ever. They did not want the peace treaty. They saw it as a retreat, a surrender. She should not have surrendered. She should have died with dignity.

But it was too late. The treaty here was just a copy. Even if she did have her staff, it would not matter. The copy had no value, no matter what she did to it. It too was for show. Just like her submission. Pretty but empty. Just an object for show.

She felt trapped suddenly, reeling back. Her name! Her stupid name at the bottom of the paper. An ink blot was sealing her fate. A stain on a white piece of paper

The empress looked around down into the hall.

They called it a peace treaty. A compromise. A tie. But she felt as though she had lost. She had done worst than lose. She had surrendered.

Cyclonis felt like running. Why the hell was she dining with her enemies?

They laughed, they smiled, they celebrated. Joyous, loud, obnoxious. The fact that she was there, well, it was to gloat over wasn't it? To illustrate how truly powerless she and her country were.

Peace?_ Peace?_

Cyclonis stepped quickly back from the treaty, slunk by the portrait of the vulture and no one was watching, those vigilant sky knights, no one was paying the empress any attention as she slipped through the west set of doors and into the grey stone hallway.

It was quieter there, but the sounds of merriment were but muted. She nearly ran down the hall, torn between speed and stealth. She grabbed fistfuls of her dress to keep from tripping on it as she managed the stony floor. She left behind footsteps and was chased the by the hollow faint echoes of the party.

She could not leave though. Cyclonia was overrun with ambassadors to oversee the terra, to make sure it did not go back on its word. They watched her. She had been allowed no where without them. Like bodyguards, they told her. Except they weren't there to protect her. She'd only been able to escape their trailing by this celebration. It was figured that with so many skyknights would be present that she wouldn't _dare_ try anything. And without her staff, without her crystals- and they were waiting outside.

She slipped into another room, shutting the doors behind her, sealing herself in silence. It _should _have been silent. Their cheers were in her head.

She leaned her back up against the door, breathing rapidly and shallowly, though she was not fatigued.

…Who would care? Who would notice one insignificant shadow no longer present? They probably wanted it- no there was no probably about it. Her own people wanted it.

She should have died fighting.

* * *

A young man with red hair noticed that a certain dark presence was no longer hovering. The train of her dress was just slivering like the tail of a snake though the door.

Out of duty and distrust he excused itself for a moment and snuck past the door. From a far he watched her take off, but he kept quiet. What as she up to? Another scheme?

Was that panic on her face?

Or just the expression of someone who might cry?

He watched her slip into the other room.

Like a trained spy he sided up to the door and pressed his ear to it. He heard nothing. Was she trying to escape? The whole place was guarded from the outside wasn't it? And crystals had been locked away for the occasion hadn't they?

He almost opened the door then hesitated. She wasn't a threat. Not now. Not anymore. She had sighed the treaty. But on the off chance…

He opened the door.

She whirled around in surprise, and then looked doubly surprised to recognize him.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"What are you doing here?" he accused. It was a guest room by the looks of it. Furnished nicely. A large dark carpet in the middle covering the stone. A four poster bed off to the left. A large window letting the moon light shine in. Some bookshelves to the right. A desk.

She wasn't sure how to answer. Then, noticing the books she said, "I was bored. I was hoping to find a library." She calmly walked over to the shelves and pulled a musty looking thing off the shelf.

"You shouldn't be here." The skyknight told her.

She had just opened the book and now she slammed it shut.

"I'm a guest, I may browse if I please. Leave me be. Surely you know that I…can do nothing."

There was no ambiguity to her words, no conniving smile.

He frowned unsure what to make of it. He didn't feel like forcing her back to the ballroom.

"Well…."

"I promise you," she said, and there was a watered down sweetness to her words, "I will not move from this room. Come back in ten minutes if it makes you feel better. Stand guard over the door. I don't care. But give me some….peace."

Aerrow did not entirely trust her. Cyclonians had a habit of going back on their word. Reluctantly he said "Alright," and left, thinking he heard her murmur, "I swear I will not leave this room," and returned to the hall, where he told some of the guards and other knights. They decided they would let her be for now- they were all having far too good of a time to be too worried. Security measures had been put in place. Aerrow guessed it would be fine to leave her and Piper was tugging at his arm, smiling, unaware of the situation asking him to dance, and he was trying to tell her he wasn't sure how….

* * *

They found her hours later. One might have thought it was just a skeleton in a fancy dress and a wig. Or a doll. A porcelain doll. A creepy doll. And at first in the dim light they didn't notice all the blood, the dress could get no darker, the carpet showed barely any difference between the wet and dry. She had ignored the bed and chosen to lie unceremoniously, so unlike a queen, on the floor. The crystals she had been wearing had been empty of energy, but not entirely powerless, their strength in sharpness, sharp enough.

"It was the chemicals you know. You've seen the pollution in Cyclonia. All the stuff she worked with. Exposure I'm sure. Caused an imbalance in the brain."

"I think she was just weird perhaps. I mean that dress. Gothic. Unhealthy fascinations, I've seen the type. The Cyclonians were always very occult."

"It's well enough, I mean, war crimes can't go unpunished. A lot of people were calling for it, the tyrant."

"It was genetic. All the emperors were always little coo-koo. Psychotic I think."

The skyknight was deeply disturbed.

_I swear I will not leave this room…._

"Don't be ridiculous you fools, it was 'cause of the peace treaty. It was cause she failed. She lost, and she knew it. Nothing but a sore loser."

"Huh…then I hope she's found her peace."

They looked more closely at her face.

But corpses don't smile.

* * *

And in the hall the treaty was burning….


End file.
